Short Story: The Night Treats Turned into Tricks

 

The Night Treats Turned to Tricks

Chapter 1: The Perfect Halloween

Maisie Cartwright adjusted her witch’s hat for the third time, checking her reflection in the hallway mirror. The pointed black hat sat perfectly on her dark curls, and her purple striped tights matched the swirling pattern on her cape. She grinned at herself, showing off the fake vampire teeth she’d added for extra effect.

“Maisie! Your friends are here!” her mum called from the kitchen.

Maisie grabbed her plastic pumpkin bucket and raced to the front door. Outside, the October evening had turned properly dark, the kind of darkness that made Halloween feel all the more real. Street lamps cast orange pools of light along the pavement, and already she could see other groups of children moving between houses, their costumes bright against the night.

Ollie Shepherd stood on the doorstep wearing a zombie costume that looked like he’d raided a charity shop and then rolled in mud. Fake blood dripped down his chin, and one eye had a gruesome contact lens that made it look milky white.

“Brains!” he moaned, reaching towards Maisie with stiff arms.

“Very funny,” Maisie laughed, pushing past him. “Where are the others?”

“Freya’s coming up the path now, and Zara texted saying she’s two minutes away. Ethan’s probably still trying to work up the courage to leave his house.”

Right on cue, Freya Montgomery appeared, dressed as a perfectly accurate vampire, complete with a velvet cape and pale makeup that made her freckles stand out. She carried a small notebook in one hand and her treat bag in the other.

“I’ve mapped out the best route,” Freya announced, flipping open her notebook. “If we start on Church Road and work our way around to the high street, we can hit twenty-three houses in two hours.”

“Twenty-three?” Ollie whistled. “That’s a lot of sweets.”

“That’s the point of Halloween,” Maisie said, closing her front door behind her. “Maximum treats, minimum effort.”

Zara Finch arrived moments later, her werewolf costume complete with furry ears and painted-on whiskers. She’d even added yellow contact lenses that glowed in the street light.

“Did you know,” Zara said, not bothering with hellos, “that the tradition of trick or treating comes from the medieval practice of souling? Poor people would go door to door offering prayers for the dead in exchange for soul cakes.”

“Fascinating,” Ollie said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Speaking of the dead, where’s Ethan? Did he actually die of fright?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” a voice called from across the street.

Ethan Graves hurried towards them, his ghost costume, just a white sheet with eye holes, flapping around his trainers. Even in the dim light, Maisie could see he looked nervous.

“Are we sure about this?” Ethan asked, fidgeting with the edge of his sheet. “I mean, it’s properly dark now, and my mum said there’s been some weird stuff happening around Rowley Regis lately.”

“Weird stuff?” Zara’s eyes lit up with interest. “What kind of weird stuff?”

“Just, you know, strange noises, people seeing things that aren’t there, that sort of thing.”

“Perfect!” Maisie declared. “That makes it even more exciting. Come on, we’re wasting prime trick-or-treating time.”

The five friends set off down the street, their buckets swinging at their sides. Other children passed them, some younger ones clutching their parents’ hands, older kids in groups like theirs. The air smelled of autumn, with the scent of bonfire smoke and damp leaves, and an edge of something else, something that made the night feel charged with possibility.

“First house,” Freya announced, checking her notebook. “Number forty-seven Church Road. Mrs. Patterson. She always gives out full-size chocolate bars.”

They approached the house, a neat semi-detached with a tidy front garden. A single pumpkin sat on the doorstep, its carved face flickering with candlelight. Maisie pressed the doorbell, and they heard it chime inside.

Mrs Patterson opened the door almost immediately, her face breaking into a warm smile when she saw them.

“Oh, wonderful costumes!” she exclaimed. “Let me guess, a witch, a zombie, a vampire, a werewolf and a ghost?”

“Got it in one,” Ollie said, doing his best zombie impression.

Mrs Patterson dropped chocolate bars into each of their buckets, the good kind with caramel and nuts. They chorused their thanks and headed back down the path.

“See?” Maisie said to Ethan. “Nothing to worry about. Just friendly neighbours and free chocolate.”

They worked their way along Church Road, collecting an impressive haul. Mr Davies gave them homemade fudge, the Johnsons handed out packets of crisps along with sweets, and old Mrs. Chen complimented each costume individually before dropping handfuls of treats into their buckets.

“This is brilliant,” Ollie said, peering into his bucket. “I’ve already got enough to last until Christmas.”

“We’ve only done six houses,” Freya pointed out. “According to my route, we’ve got seventeen more to go.”

“Seventeen more houses of free sweets?” Ollie grinned. “Best night ever.”

They turned onto a narrower street, one that Maisie didn’t recognise despite living in Rowley Regis her whole life. The houses here looked older, their windows dark, gardens overgrown. The street lamps seemed dimmer somehow, and there were no other trick-or-treaters in sight.

“Are you sure this is on your route?” Maisie asked Freya.

Freya frowned at her notebook. “I don’t remember writing this down, but it must be. Look, there’s a house with its light on.”

She pointed to a Victorian terrace halfway down the street. Unlike its neighbours, this house had every window blazing with light, and the front door stood slightly ajar.

“That’s a bit odd,” Zara said slowly. “Leaving your door open on Halloween.”

“Maybe they’re expecting lots of trick or treaters,” Ollie suggested, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“We don’t have to go,” Ethan said quickly. “We’ve got loads of sweets already.”

But Maisie was already walking towards the house. Something about it drew her in, a curiosity she couldn’t quite explain. The others followed, their footsteps echoing on the quiet street.

As they approached the open door, Maisie noticed there were no Halloween decorations, no pumpkins or fake cobwebs. Just that bright, almost harsh light spilling out onto the doorstep.

“Hello?” Maisie called, pushing the door open a bit wider. “Trick or treat?”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a voice drifted from somewhere inside the house, high and sing-song.

“Come in, come in, little ones. I’ve been waiting for you.”

The five friends exchanged glances. Ethan shook his head frantically, but Maisie’s curiosity won out. She stepped over the threshold, and the others, not wanting to be left outside, followed her in.

The door swung shut behind them with a soft click.

Chapter 2: The First Trick

The hallway stretched before them, longer than it should have been. Much longer. Maisie blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. From outside, the house had looked like a normal Victorian terrace, but this corridor seemed to go on forever, lined with doors on both sides.

“This isn’t right,” Freya whispered, clutching her notebook tighter. “The house isn’t this big.”

“Maybe it’s just the lighting,” Ollie said, but his usual joking tone had disappeared. “Playing tricks on our eyes.”

The voice came again, still sing-song, still impossible to pinpoint. “Down the hall, children. Follow the lights.”

As if responding to the voice, the lights in the hallway began to flicker in sequence, creating a path deeper into the house. Maisie felt her heart beating faster, but she couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement.

“We should go back,” Ethan said, turning towards the door they’d entered through.

But the door had vanished. Where it had been was now just another stretch of wallpaper, faded and peeling, as if the door had never existed at all.

“Okay, that’s definitely not normal,” Zara said, running her hand along the wall where the door should have been. “That’s actually impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” the voice sang out. “Not on Halloween. Not in my house. Come along now, don’t be shy. You wanted treats, didn’t you?”

The lights flickered again, more insistently this time.

“I think we have to go forward,” Maisie said, trying to sound braver than she felt. “There’s no way back.”

They walked down the corridor in a tight group, their earlier excitement replaced by a growing sense of unease. The doors on either side were all closed, each one painted a different colour: red, blue, green, yellow, and black. As they passed, Maisie could have sworn she heard sounds coming from behind them, whispers and giggles and something that might have been crying.

“Don’t listen,” Freya said firmly. “Just keep walking.”

The corridor finally ended at a large wooden door, carved with intricate patterns that seemed to move in the flickering light. It swung open before they reached it, revealing a room that made them all stop in their tracks.

It was a kitchen, but not like any kitchen Maisie had ever seen. The ceiling stretched up impossibly high, disappearing into darkness. The walls were lined with shelves containing jars of every size and colour, filled with things that glowed and bubbled and moved. In the centre of the room stood a massive table, and behind it stood a woman.

She was tall and thin, with silver hair piled high on her head and eyes that seemed to shift colour as she looked at them. She wore a dress that might have been fashionable a hundred years ago, all black lace and velvet, and when she smiled, her teeth looked just a bit too sharp.

“Welcome, welcome!” she said, spreading her arms wide. “Five little trick or treaters, right on time. I’m so glad you accepted my invitation.”

“We didn’t accept any invitation,” Maisie said, finding her voice. “We just knocked on your door.”

“Oh, but you did accept,” the woman said, her smile growing wider. “The moment you stepped over my threshold, you accepted. And now, you’ll get exactly what you asked for. Tricks or treats, wasn’t that the question?”

“Treats,” Ollie said quickly. “Definitely treats. We’re very pro-treat.”

The woman laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a storm. “But you see, in my house, we do things a little differently. You’ll get your treats, oh yes, but first, you must earn them. You must face the tricks.”

She clapped her hands once, and the jars on the shelves began to rattle. The lights dimmed, and suddenly the room felt much colder.

“Your first trick,” the woman announced, “is a simple one. A test of courage, if you will.”

She gestured to the table, and five glasses appeared, each filled with a different colored liquid. One was bright green and bubbling, another was thick and purple, the third looked like it was full of shadows, the fourth sparkled with gold flecks, and the fifth was a deep, dark red.

“Drink,” the woman commanded. “Each of you must choose a glass and drink it all. Do this, and you may proceed to the next room. Refuse, and, well, you’ll stay here with me. Forever.”

“That’s not a trick,” Zara said, though her voice shook slightly. “That’s just mean.”

“Oh, it’s very much a trick,” the woman said. “Because you don’t know what these drinks will do to you. They might be harmless. They might be delicious. Or they might change you in ways you can’t imagine. That’s the trick, you see. The not knowing.”

Ethan had gone very pale under his ghost sheet. “I don’t want to drink anything. I want to go home.”

“Then drink,” the woman said simply. “It’s the only way forward.”

Maisie looked at her friends, seeing her own fear reflected in their faces. But she also saw something else, determination in Freya’s eyes, curiosity in Zara’s despite her fear, even a hint of Ollie’s usual bravado returning.

“We’ll do it,” Maisie said. “But we choose our own glasses.”

The woman’s smile faltered for just a moment, then returned. “Very well. Choose wisely.”

Maisie stepped forward first, studying the glasses. The green bubbling one looked the most obviously dangerous, so she avoided it. The shadowy one made her feel cold just looking at it. She reached for the gold-flecked one, figuring that gold usually meant something good.

The moment her fingers touched the glass, it felt warm. She lifted it to her lips and drank. It tasted like honey and sunshine and her mum’s hot chocolate on winter mornings. She drained the glass and set it down, relieved when nothing terrible happened.

“One down,” the woman said. “Four to go.”

Ollie went next, choosing the purple one with a shrug. “Can’t be worse than my dad’s cooking,” he muttered. He drank it quickly, then his eyes went wide. “It tastes like every sweet I’ve ever eaten, all at once. That’s actually amazing.”

Freya chose the red one, drinking it methodically while taking mental notes. “Cherries,” she announced. “And something else, something spicy.”

Zara picked the green bubbling one, the one Maisie had avoided. “Might as well go for the interesting one,” she said. She drank it down and immediately started hiccupping, but each hiccup came out as a small puff of green smoke. “That’s, hiccup, actually quite, hiccup, cool.”

That left Ethan with the shadowy glass. He stared at it, his hands trembling.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t do it.”

“You must,” the woman said, and now her voice had lost all its sing-song quality. It was cold and hard. “Or you stay here. Forever.”

Maisie moved to stand next to Ethan. “We’re all here with you,” she said quietly. “Whatever happens, we’re together.”

The others gathered around him, too, forming a circle of support. Ethan took a deep breath, picked up the glass, and drank.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Ethan’s shadow, cast by the overhead lights, began to move independently. It stretched and twisted, dancing across the floor even though Ethan stood perfectly still.

“My shadow,” Ethan gasped. “It’s alive.”

“Only temporarily,” the woman said, and she actually sounded disappointed. “The effects will wear off by midnight. You’ve all passed the first trick. How tedious.”

She clapped her hands again, and a door appeared in the wall that had been solid moments before.

“Through there for your next challenge. And children? It only gets harder from here.”

The five friends looked at each other, at Zara’s green hiccups, at Ethan’s dancing shadow, at their own hands that seemed normal but might not be.

“Together?” Maisie asked.

“Together,” the others agreed.

They walked through the door, leaving the strange woman and her kitchen behind. The door slammed shut behind them, and they found themselves in a new corridor, darker than the first, with sounds echoing from somewhere ahead.

Sounds like footsteps. Lots of footsteps. Getting closer.

Chapter 3: The Running Shadows

The new corridor was nothing like the first. Where the entrance hall had been bright and lined with colored doors, this passage was dim and narrow, the walls pressing in on both sides. The wallpaper was old and water-stained, peeling away in strips that hung like dead skin. And those footsteps, they were getting louder.

“What is that?” Freya whispered, pressing her notebook against her chest like a shield.

“Nothing good,” Ollie replied, his zombie makeup looking less funny and more appropriate in the gloom.

The footsteps weren’t coming from ahead of them, Maisie realised. They were coming from behind, and from the sides, and maybe even from above. It sounded like dozens of feet, all moving in perfect rhythm, all heading towards them.

“Run,” Zara said, still hiccupping green smoke with every word. “We need to, hiccup, run. Now.”

They didn’t need telling twice. As one, the five friends bolted down the corridor, their treat buckets banging against their legs, their costumes flapping. Behind them, the footsteps erupted into a thunderous stampede.

Maisie risked a glance over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn’t. The shadows were running. Not people casting shadows, but the shadows themselves, dozens of them, maybe hundreds. They poured along the walls and ceiling and floor, dark silhouettes of people and animals and things that had never been alive, all racing after the children with grasping hands and snapping jaws.

“Don’t look back!” Maisie shouted. “Just run!”

The corridor twisted and turned, branching off in different directions. Freya, despite her fear, kept them on track, calling out directions from memory even though she’d never been in this house before.

“Left here! No, right! Straight ahead!”

Ethan’s own shadow had joined the chase, but instead of pursuing them, it ran alongside Ethan, almost as if it was trying to help. It pointed ahead to a door that Maisie hadn’t noticed, a small wooden door set low in the wall.

“There!” Ethan gasped. “My shadow’s showing us the way!”

They threw themselves at the door. Maisie grabbed the handle and yanked it open, and they all tumbled through, landing in a heap on the other side. Ollie, the last one through, slammed the door shut just as the shadow horde reached it.

For a moment, they could hear the shadows scratching and clawing at the wood. Then, gradually, the sounds faded away, leaving only the children’s ragged breathing.

“Is everyone okay?” Maisie asked, untangling herself from the pile.

“Define okay,” Ollie muttered, but he was already sitting up, checking that all his limbs were still attached.

They’d landed in what looked like a library, though calling it that seemed inadequate. Books lined every wall from floor to ceiling, more books than Maisie had ever seen in one place. They were stacked on tables, piled in corners, balanced in precarious towers that swayed gently despite there being no breeze. The room smelled of old paper and leather and something else, something like cinnamon and starlight.

“This is incredible,” Zara breathed, her hiccups finally subsiding. She reached for the nearest book, but Freya caught her hand.

“Don’t touch anything,” Freya warned. “Remember where we are. This is another trick.”

As if summoned by her words, the books began to move. They slid from their shelves and flew through the air, pages fluttering like wings. They circled the children, faster and faster, creating a whirlwind of paper and words.

“Not again,” Ethan moaned, his dancing shadow cowering behind him.

But these books weren’t attacking. As Maisie watched, words began to lift from the pages, glowing letters that hung in the air and rearranged themselves into a message.

SOLVE THE RIDDLE TO PROCEED. FAIL AND REMAIN HERE TO READ FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER

“A riddle?” Ollie said. “That’s the trick? That’s almost disappointing after the shadow chase.”

“Don’t underestimate it,” Zara said, studying the floating words. “Riddles can be tricky. That’s literally in the name.”

More words appeared, forming the riddle itself.

I HAVE CITIES BUT NO HOUSES. I HAVE FORESTS BUT NO TREES
I HAVE WATER BUT NO FISH. WHAT AM I?

The five friends stared at the glowing letters, their minds racing. Around them, the books continued their circular flight, and Maisie noticed that with each passing second, they flew a little closer, the circle tightening.

“We need to answer quickly,” Freya said, watching the books nervously. “I think they’re going to trap us if we take too long.”

“Cities but no houses,” Maisie repeated, trying to think. “How can you have a city without houses?”

“Maybe it’s not a real city,” Ollie suggested. “Maybe it’s, I don’t know, a toy city? Like a model?”

“Forests but no trees, water but no fish,” Zara murmured. “It’s something that represents these things but isn’t actually them.”

Ethan’s shadow suddenly stood up straight, taller than Ethan himself, and began to mime something. It pretended to unfold something large, then pointed at it emphatically.

“What’s your shadow doing?” Ollie asked.

“I think it’s trying to help,” Ethan said, watching his shadow’s performance. “It’s unfolding something, something flat. Like a, like a…”

“A map!” Maisie shouted. “The answer is a map! Maps have cities and forests and water, but they’re not real, they’re just representations!”

The moment she spoke, the flying books froze in mid-air. The glowing words rearranged themselves.

CORRECT

The books flew back to their shelves in an orderly fashion, slotting themselves into place with satisfying thuds. A new door appeared between two bookcases, this one made of glass that showed a garden beyond.

“Two tricks down,” Freya said, making a note in her notebook with shaking hands. “How many more do you think there are?”

“The woman said we had to earn our treats,” Maisie replied. “I’m guessing one trick per house we wanted to visit. We were going for six houses on this street, so probably six tricks total.”

“We’re only a third of the way through?” Ethan looked like he might cry. “I want to go home. I want my mum. I want to never do Halloween again.”

“We can’t give up now,” Maisie said, though she felt the same fear gnawing at her. “We have to keep going. It’s the only way out.”

“Maisie’s right,” Zara said, straightening her werewolf ears. “Besides, aren’t you a little bit curious about what’s next? This is the most interesting Halloween ever.”

“Interesting is one word for it,” Ollie said. “Terrifying is another. But yeah, I suppose we’ve come this far.”

They approached the glass door together. Through it, they could see a garden bathed in moonlight, beautiful and serene. Flowers bloomed in impossible colours, and a path of white stones led to a gazebo in the centre.

“It looks nice,” Freya said doubtfully. “Which probably means it’s the worst one yet.”

“Only one way to find out,” Maisie said.

She pushed open the glass door, and they stepped into the garden. The air smelled of roses and lavender, and for a moment, Maisie let herself relax. Maybe this one would be easier. Maybe they’d get a break.

Then the flowers began to sing.

Not pleasant singing, not a gentle melody. They sang in discordant voices, each flower a different note, all of them clashing and screeching. The sound was so loud, so overwhelming, that Maisie clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The singing seemed to come from inside her head.

And the flowers were growing, their stems stretching up and up, their petals opening to reveal mouths full of thorns. They swayed towards the children, still singing their horrible song, and Maisie realised this trick might be the worst one yet.

“Run!” she screamed, though she could barely hear her own voice over the singing. “Run to the gazebo!”

They ran, dodging between the growing flowers, their ears ringing with the terrible music. The white stone path seemed to stretch longer with every step, and the gazebo remained frustratingly distant.

But they ran together, and that made all the difference.

Chapter 4: The Garden of Screaming Flowers

The singing flowers reached for them with thorny tendrils, their voices rising to a crescendo that made Maisie’s teeth ache. She ducked under a massive rose that had grown to the size of a small tree, its petals snapping like jaws where her head had been moments before.

“Keep moving!” Freya shouted, her vampire cape tangling around her legs as she ran.

Ollie stumbled, and a vine wrapped around his ankle. He kicked frantically, his zombie makeup streaking with real sweat now. “A little help here!”

Ethan’s shadow, still independent and helpful, stretched across the ground and somehow pulled the vine away. Ollie scrambled to his feet, gasping his thanks.

The gazebo was closer now, just a few more metres. Maisie could see that it was made of white wood, delicate and beautiful, completely at odds with the nightmare garden surrounding it. She pushed herself harder, her witch’s hat flying off her head and disappearing into the grasping flowers behind them.

They burst through the gazebo’s entrance and collapsed on the floor, panting and shaking. The moment they crossed the threshold, the singing stopped. The sudden silence was almost as shocking as the noise had been.

Maisie sat up slowly, her ears still ringing. Through the gazebo’s latticed walls, she could see the flowers shrinking back to normal size, their thorny mouths closing into innocent petals. The garden looked peaceful again, as if nothing had happened.

“Is it over?” Ethan asked, his voice small and frightened. His shadow had returned to its normal position, though it still seemed to move with slightly more independence than a shadow should.

“I think we’re safe for now,” Zara said, examining the gazebo. “Look, there’s something here.”

In the centre of the gazebo stood a small table, and on it sat a silver bell, the kind you might ring for service in a fancy hotel. Next to it was a card written in elegant script.

“Ring for the next challenge,” Freya read aloud. “Well, at least they’re polite about trying to terrify us.”

“Three tricks down, three to go,” Maisie said, getting to her feet. Her legs felt wobbly, but she forced herself to stand straight. “We’re halfway there.”

“Halfway to what, though?” Ollie asked. “We still don’t know what happens when we finish all six tricks. What if there’s no way out? What if this is just a game that never ends?”

“There has to be an end,” Maisie insisted, though doubt gnawed at her. “The woman said we’d earn our treats. That means there’s something at the end, something we get for completing the challenges.”

“Or maybe the trick is that there is no end,” Ethan said miserably. “Maybe we’re stuck here forever, going from one horrible room to another until we’re too old to care anymore.”

“Stop it,” Freya said sharply. “That kind of thinking won’t help. We have to believe there’s a way out, because if we don’t, we might as well give up now.”

They stood in silence for a moment, each wrestling with their own fears. Then Zara stepped forward and picked up the bell.

“Well,” she said, “only one way to find out.”

She rang the bell. The sound was clear and bright, cutting through the night air like a knife. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the floor of the gazebo began to sink.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Ollie groaned as they descended into darkness.

The gazebo lowered them smoothly, like a very slow lift, down through the ground and into what appeared to be a vast underground chamber. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they realised they were in a maze.

Walls of dark green hedge stretched in every direction, easily three metres tall, blocking any view of what lay ahead. Torches burned in iron brackets along the walls, casting flickering shadows that made the maze seem alive and shifting.

The gazebo settled onto solid ground with a gentle bump, and a voice echoed through the maze. Not the woman’s voice this time, but something deeper, older, like the earth itself speaking.

“Welcome to the Labyrinth of Lost Things. Find your way to the centre and claim what you’ve lost. Fail, and lose yourselves forever.”

“Lost things?” Maisie repeated. “What does that mean?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Zara said, pointing.

Floating in the air before each of them was an image, translucent and shimmering like a soap bubble. Maisie gasped when she saw hers. It was her grandmother, who had died two years ago. She was smiling, holding out her arms for a hug.

“Gran?” Maisie whispered, reaching towards the image.

“Don’t touch it!” Freya warned, but her voice was distracted. She was staring at her own image, which showed a trophy, a writing competition she’d entered last year and lost by a single point.

Ollie’s image showed his old dog, Biscuit, who had run away when Ollie was seven. Zara showed a friendship bracelet, one her best friend from primary school had given her before moving to Australia. And Ethan showed his dad, standing in their old house before the divorce, before everything had changed.

“These are things we’ve lost,” Zara said softly. “Things we miss. Things we’d do almost anything to get back.”

“It’s the trick,” Freya said, forcing herself to look away from the trophy. “They’re trying to tempt us, to make us touch the images. Don’t do it. Whatever happens, don’t touch them.”

But the images began to move, floating down different paths in the maze. Maisie’s grandmother drifted away, still smiling, still holding out her arms. Every instinct in Maisie’s body screamed at her to follow.

“We have to stick together,” Maisie said, though her voice shook. “We can’t split up. That’s what they want.”

“But what if the only way to the centre is to follow our own image?” Ethan asked. “What if we have to face this alone?”

As if in answer, the paths before them began to shift. The hedge walls moved, creating five separate corridors, each one leading in a different direction. The images floated down their respective paths, beckoning.

“No,” Maisie said firmly. “We stay together. We pick one path and we all take it.”

“But which one?” Ollie asked.

They looked at each other, five frightened children in Halloween costumes that no longer seemed fun or exciting, just childish and silly in the face of real magic and real danger.

“Mine,” Ethan said suddenly. Everyone turned to stare at him. “My path. We should take my path.”

“Why yours?” Zara asked, not unkindly.

“Because I’m the most scared,” Ethan said simply. “I’ve been scared since we started, scared of every trick, scared of never getting home. If we take my path, if we face my fear together, maybe that’s how we beat this trick. By not letting fear separate us.”

Maisie felt a surge of pride for her friend. Ethan, who had been reluctant to come trick-or-treating at all, was now the bravest of them all.

“Ethan’s right,” she said. “We take his path. Together.”

They linked hands, forming a chain, and stepped into the corridor where Ethan’s image of his father had disappeared. The hedge walls closed behind them immediately, cutting off any retreat.

The path twisted and turned, branching off in multiple directions, but they kept moving forward, following the distant shimmer of Ethan’s lost memory. Other images appeared along the way, more lost things, a teddy bear, a house key, a photograph, a promise. They whispered as the children passed, calling out in familiar voices.

“Don’t listen,” Freya said, squeezing Maisie’s hand tighter. “Keep walking.”

They walked for what felt like hours, though it could have been minutes. Time felt strange in the maze, stretching and compressing like taffy. Just when Maisie thought they might be walking forever, they emerged into a circular clearing at the centre of the labyrinth.

The clearing was empty except for a single mirror, tall and ornate, standing in the middle. The frame was made of twisted silver, decorated with symbols that hurt to look at directly. The glass itself seemed to ripple like water.

Ethan’s image of his father stood before the mirror, still and silent now.

“Now what?” Ollie asked.

The earth-voice spoke again. “Look into the mirror and see what you’ve truly lost. Accept it, and you may pass. Deny it, and remain here with all the other lost things.”

Ethan stepped forward, still holding Maisie’s hand, pulling the others with him. Together, they approached the mirror.

Their reflections appeared in the glass, but they were wrong. In the mirror, they weren’t wearing costumes. They were dressed in ordinary clothes, and they looked older, sadder, and more worn down. The reflected children stood alone, separated, not holding hands at all.

“That’s us,” Freya breathed. “That’s us if we’d split up. If we’d each followed our own lost thing.”

“We would have been lost too,” Zara added. “Lost and alone and trapped here forever.”

The mirror rippled again, and their reflections changed. Now they saw themselves as they really were, five friends in Halloween costumes, holding hands, facing their fears together. And behind them, in the mirror, they could see all the things they’d lost, not as temptations but as memories, precious and painful and part of who they were.

“I accept it,” Ethan said quietly. “I accept that my dad doesn’t live with us anymore. I accept that things have changed. It hurts, but it’s real, and I can’t change it by chasing an image in a maze.”

One by one, the others spoke their own acceptances. Maisie accepted that her grandmother was gone. Freya accepted that she hadn’t won the competition. Ollie accepted that Biscuit was never coming back. Zara accepted that her friend had moved away.

The mirror glowed bright white, so bright that they had to shield their eyes. When the light faded, the mirror was gone, and in its place stood a door, ordinary and wooden and wonderfully real.

“Four tricks down,” Maisie said. “Two to go.”

They walked through the door together, still holding hands, ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter 5: The Room of Reflections

The door led them into a room that made Maisie’s head hurt just looking at it. It was full of mirrors, hundreds of them, covering every surface, the walls, the ceiling, even the floor beneath their feet. Each mirror reflected the others, creating an infinite cascade of images that stretched away in all directions.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Ollie said, closing his eyes against the dizzying effect.

“Don’t look at the reflections,” Freya advised. “Just look at us, at what’s real.”

But that was easier said than done. Every time Maisie tried to focus on her friends, her eyes would catch on a reflection, and then another, and another, until she couldn’t tell which was real and which was just an image of an image of an image.

“Welcome to your fifth challenge,” the woman’s voice sang out, echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “In this room, nothing is as it seems. Find the real door among all the reflections, and you may proceed. Choose wrong, and you’ll be trapped in the mirror world forever, just another reflection with no substance, no reality, no way home.”

“How are we supposed to find the real door when we can’t even tell which way is up?” Zara asked, her werewolf ears drooping.

“There has to be a clue,” Maisie said, forcing herself to think logically despite the disorientation. “There’s always a clue. We just have to figure out what it is.”

They stood in a tight group, trying not to look at the infinite reflections surrounding them. Ethan’s shadow, still slightly independent, seemed confused by all the mirrors. It kept trying to attach itself to different reflections of Ethan, stretching and snapping back like elastic.

“Wait,” Ethan said, watching his shadow. “My shadow, it’s trying to find the real me. What if that’s the clue? Shadows can’t exist in reflections, not real shadows anyway. They’re just images of shadows.”

“That’s brilliant,” Zara said, her eyes lighting up. “Reflections don’t cast shadows. They’re just light bouncing off glass. So if we can find something that casts a real shadow, that must be real.”

“But how do we test it without touching everything?” Freya asked. “If we touch the wrong thing, we might get trapped.”

Maisie looked around the room, trying to spot anything that might cast a shadow. But with mirrors everywhere, every shadow was reflected and re-reflected until it was impossible to tell which were real.

Then she noticed something. In one corner of the room, there was a slight darkness, a place where the reflections seemed less bright. She pointed it out to the others.

“There, see? That corner looks different. Less reflective somehow.”

They made their way carefully across the mirrored floor, trying not to look down at the infinite reflections beneath their feet. As they got closer to the corner, Maisie realised what she was seeing. There was a door there, but it was covered in so much dust and grime that it barely reflected anything at all.

“That’s it,” she said. “That has to be it. It’s the only thing in this room that isn’t perfectly reflective.”

“But how do we know it’s not a trick?” Ollie asked. “What if the real trick is making us think the dirty door is real when actually it’s just another reflection?”

“We don’t know,” Maisie admitted. “But we have to choose something. We can’t stay in this room forever.”

She reached out towards the dusty door, her hand trembling. Behind her, she could feel her friends holding their breath. Her fingers touched the wood, and it felt solid, real, warm from some source of heat beyond.

“It’s real,” she breathed.

She turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open, revealing a staircase leading upward. They hurried through, and the moment the last of them, Ollie, crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them.

The staircase was narrow and dark, lit only by candles in wall sconces. They climbed in silence, their footsteps echoing on the stone steps. Up and up they went, until Maisie’s legs burned and her breath came in gasps.

Finally, they reached the top. Another door waited for them, this one made of dark wood carved with strange symbols that seemed to writhe in the candlelight.

“Last trick,” Freya said, checking her notebook even though she hadn’t been able to write anything down since the maze. “Whatever’s behind this door, it’s the final challenge.”

“Then let’s get it over with,” Maisie said, trying to sound brave.

She pushed open the door, and they stepped into a room that took her breath away.

It was a ballroom, vast and beautiful, with a ceiling painted like the night sky, complete with stars that actually twinkled. Crystal chandeliers hung from above, casting rainbow light across the polished floor. And in the centre of the room stood the woman from the kitchen, no longer wearing her old-fashioned dress but a gown that seemed to be made of shadows and starlight.

“Congratulations,” she said, and for the first time, her smile seemed almost genuine. “You’ve made it to the final trick. Five challenges completed, five tests passed. You’ve shown courage, cleverness, loyalty, acceptance, and perception. Now, for your final test, you must show me the most important thing of all.”

“What’s that?” Maisie asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Joy,” the woman said simply. “You must dance.”

“Dance?” Ollie repeated. “That’s it? That’s the final trick?”

“Oh, it’s not as simple as it sounds,” the woman said, her smile widening. “You must dance, all five of you, in perfect synchronisation, for the length of one song. If you fall out of step, if you stumble, if you stop, you fail. And if you fail, you stay here forever, dancing in my ballroom for all eternity.”

Music began to play, a haunting melody that seemed to come from the air itself. It was beautiful and sad and somehow familiar, like a lullaby Maisie had heard long ago but couldn’t quite remember.

“We don’t know how to dance in synchronisation,” Freya said. “We’ve never practised together. This is impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” the woman said, echoing her earlier words. “Not on Halloween. Not in my house. Now, dance.”

The music swelled, becoming more insistent. Maisie felt her feet begin to move of their own accord, pulled by the rhythm. The others were moving too, their bodies responding to the music whether they wanted to or not.

“We have to work together,” Maisie gasped as she spun. “Like we have for all the other tricks. We have to move as one.”

But it was so hard. The music pulled them in different directions, making Ollie leap when Freya wanted to turn, making Zara spin when Ethan wanted to step. They bumped into each other, stumbled, and nearly fell.

“It’s not working!” Ethan cried, his shadow dancing wildly around him.

“Wait,” Zara said, still moving but thinking hard. “We’re trying to dance the same steps, but maybe that’s wrong. Maybe we need to dance together but differently. Like, like a group, where everyone has their own part but it all fits together.”

“Like a team,” Maisie said, understanding. “We don’t have to be identical. We just have to be together.”

They stopped trying to copy each other and instead let the music guide them individually. Ollie’s movements became big and bouncy, full of his natural energy. Freya moved with precise, controlled grace. Zara spun and leapt like the wild thing her costume suggested. Ethan moved quietly, simply, his shadow dancing alongside him. And Maisie found herself moving with confidence, leading without forcing, guiding without controlling.

And somehow, impossibly, it worked. They weren’t doing the same steps, but they were dancing together, their individual movements creating a pattern that was beautiful and whole. They moved around each other, with each other, for each other, five separate dancers creating one perfect dance.

The music reached its crescendo and ended. They stopped, breathing hard, and looked at each other in amazement.

They’d done it.

The woman stood watching them, and for the first time, she looked surprised. Then, slowly, she began to clap.

“Well done,” she said, and her voice had lost its mocking edge. “You’ve passed all six tricks. You’ve earned your treats.”

She gestured, and six doors appeared in the ballroom walls, each one glowing with warm, golden light.

“Each door leads home,” the woman said. “Choose any one, and you’ll find yourself back in Rowley Regis, safe and sound. But before you go, tell me, will you come back next Halloween? Will you knock on my door again?”

“No!” Ethan said immediately. “Never again. This was the worst night of my life.”

“Mine too,” Ollie agreed. “No offence, but your house is terrifying.”

The woman laughed, but it was a different laugh now, warmer, more human. “That’s the correct answer,” she said. “The real trick, the one that matters, is learning when to say no. Learning when enough is enough. You came seeking treats, but what you’ve really earned is wisdom. The wisdom to know that some doors shouldn’t be opened, some invitations shouldn’t be accepted, and some tricks aren’t worth the treats.”

She waved her hand, and suddenly they were all holding bags, proper bags, not their plastic pumpkin buckets. The bags were heavy, full of sweets and chocolates and treats beyond imagining.

“Your reward,” the woman said. “You earned it. Now go home, and remember this night. Remember that the best treat of all is knowing when to walk away.”

Maisie looked at her friends, seeing her own exhaustion and relief reflected in their faces. “Together?” she asked one last time.

“Together,” they agreed.

They walked towards the nearest door, still holding hands, still united. As they reached it, Maisie looked back at the woman one last time.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Really?”

The woman smiled, and for a moment, she looked ancient and young all at once, human and something else entirely.

“I’m the spirit of Halloween,” she said. “The real Halloween, not the one with shop-bought costumes and mass-produced sweets. I’m the reminder that magic is real, that fear can be overcome, and that the greatest power comes from facing challenges together. I’m the trick and the treat, the question and the answer. And I’ll be here next year, and the year after that, waiting to see who’s brave enough, or foolish enough, to knock on my door.”

“We won’t be,” Maisie said firmly.

“I know,” the woman said. “That’s why you passed.”

They stepped through the door, and the world spun around them.

Chapter 6: Home Again

Maisie blinked and found herself standing on a familiar pavement, under a familiar street lamp, in a very familiar part of Rowley Regis. The others were with her, all five of them, still holding hands, still clutching their bags of treats.

The strange house was gone. In its place was just an empty lot, overgrown with weeds, a “For Sale” sign tilted at an angle near the pavement.

“Did that really happen?” Freya asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Maisie looked down at the bag in her hand. It was real, heavy with sweets. She looked at her friends, at Zara’s smudged werewolf makeup, at Ollie’s streaked zombie face, at Freya’s askew vampire cape, at Ethan’s rumpled ghost sheet. They all looked exhausted, frightened, and somehow changed.

“It happened,” she said.

Ethan’s shadow was back to normal, moving exactly as a shadow should. Zara wasn’t hiccupping green smoke anymore. Whatever magic had touched them in that house had faded with their return to the real world.

“What time is it?” Ollie asked, pulling out his phone. His eyes widened. “It’s only eight o’clock. We’ve only been gone for an hour.”

“That’s impossible,” Freya said. “We were in there for hours. We must have been.”

“Time works differently in magical places,” Zara said, and she sounded like she was quoting from one of the many books she’d read. “Maybe time didn’t pass here while we were there.”

They stood in silence for a moment, trying to process what had happened. Around them, Rowley Regis continued its normal Halloween night. They could see other trick-or-treaters walking past, laughing and comparing their hauls. Parents chatted on doorsteps. Someone had set up a fog machine in their front garden, and artificial mist drifted across the pavement.

It all seemed so normal, so ordinary, so safe.

“I want to go home,” Ethan said quietly. “I want to see my mum and tell her I love her and never leave the house again.”

“Me too,” Maisie agreed. “But first, we need to promise each other something.”

The others looked at her, waiting.

“We never tell anyone about this,” Maisie said. “They wouldn’t believe us anyway, and even if they did, we don’t want anyone else going looking for that house. The woman was right, some doors shouldn’t be opened.”

“Agreed,” Freya said immediately. “This stays between us.”

“Forever,” Zara added.

“I’m never even saying the words ‘trick or treat’ again,” Ollie said. “From now on, I’m strictly a ‘treats only’ person.”

“Same,” Ethan said. “Actually, I’m never doing Halloween again. I’m going to stay inside every October thirty-first for the rest of my life.”

They started walking towards their homes, their steps slow and weary. As they walked, they passed the houses they’d visited earlier in the evening, the normal houses with their normal treats. Mrs Patterson’s house still had its carved pumpkin on the doorstep. Mr Davies’ lights were still on. Everything was exactly as it had been before they’d turned down that strange street.

“Do you think she was telling the truth?” Freya asked. “About being the spirit of Halloween?”

“I don’t know,” Maisie said. “But I believe her about one thing. The best treat is knowing when to walk away.”

They reached the corner where they’d normally split up to go to their separate homes. Usually, this was where they’d spend ages saying goodbye, comparing their sweets, and planning when to meet up again. Tonight, they just wanted to get home.

“See you at school tomorrow?” Zara asked.

“Yeah,” Maisie said. “And maybe we should have lunch together. All of us. Talk about normal things. Homework and telly and anything that isn’t magic houses and trick challenges.”

“That sounds perfect,” Ethan said, and he actually smiled.

They said their goodbyes and headed off in different directions. Maisie walked the last few streets to her house alone, her bag of treats feeling heavier with each step. She kept expecting something to jump out at her, for the pavement to open up beneath her feet, for the street lamps to start singing. But nothing happened. It was just a normal October evening in a normal town.

She reached her front door and fumbled for her key. Her hands were shaking, she realised. She was still scared, even though she was home, even though she was safe.

The door opened before she could get her key in the lock. Her mum stood there, smiling, completely unaware of what her daughter had just been through.

“Back already?” her mum said. “I thought you’d be out for at least another hour. Did you get lots of sweets?”

“Yeah,” Maisie said, holding up her bag. “Loads.”

“That’s wonderful! Do you want some hot chocolate? You look frozen.”

“That would be brilliant,” Maisie said, and suddenly she felt like crying. Hot chocolate and her mum and her normal, boring, wonderfully safe house. It was everything she wanted.

She followed her mum into the kitchen and sat at the familiar table while her mum made hot chocolate the way she always did, with real milk and chocolate buttons melted in, topped with squirty cream and marshmallows. Normal, predictable, perfect.

“Did you have fun?” her mum asked, setting the mug in front of her.

Maisie thought about the impossible corridor, the magical drinks, the shadow chase, the maze of lost things, the room of mirrors, and the final dance. She thought about her friends and how they’d faced everything together. She thought about the woman who might have been the spirit of Halloween, and her warning about knowing when to walk away.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I did. But I think this might be my last year of trick or treating.”

Her mum looked surprised. “Really? You’ve always loved Halloween.”

“I still do,” Maisie said. “But I think I’m getting too old for it. Maybe next year I’ll just stay in and watch scary films instead.”

“Well, you’re growing up,” her mum said, ruffling her hair. “That’s allowed. Now drink your chocolate before it gets cold.”

Maisie wrapped her hands around the warm mug and took a sip. It tasted like safety, like home, like everything that had been waiting for her on the other side of those six tricks.

Later, up in her room, she emptied out her treat bag. It was full of the most amazing sweets she’d ever seen, chocolates from brands she didn’t recognise, candies in flavours that shouldn’t exist, treats that sparkled and glowed and seemed almost magical. She tried one, a chocolate that tasted like every happy memory she’d ever had, and it was delicious.

But as she ate it, she made a decision. Tomorrow, she’d share these treats with her friends. They’d earned them together, after all. And then, once they were gone, she’d never think about that house again. She’d never wonder if it would appear next Halloween, or if the woman would be waiting for someone else to knock on her door.

She’d just remember the lesson: that some tricks aren’t worth any treat, that the real magic is in friendship and courage and knowing your limits, and that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away.

Maisie changed into her pyjamas, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. Outside her window, she could still hear the sounds of Halloween, children laughing, parents calling, and the distant sound of fireworks. It was a normal Halloween night in Rowley Regis.

And that was exactly how she wanted it to be.

As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard, very faintly, the sound of wind chimes laughing. But when she opened her eyes, there was nothing there, just her normal room, her normal life, her normal, wonderful, magic-free world.

She smiled and closed her eyes again.

Tomorrow, she and her friends will meet at school. They’d eat lunch together and talk about normal things. They’d probably never speak about the house again, but they’d remember. They’d remember that they’d faced something impossible and come through it together.

And they’d remember that they’d made a vow, a promise to themselves and each other.

Never again.

No more trick or treating.

No more knocking on strange doors.

No more chasing treats that came with tricks attached.

From now on, they’d stick to the safe, the normal, the ordinary. And after the night they’d had, ordinary sounded absolutely perfect.

Maisie fell asleep with a smile on her face, dreaming not of magical houses or impossible challenges, but of hot chocolate and homework and lazy Saturdays with her friends. Normal dreams. Safe dreams.

The best dreams of all.